P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

Jordan felt a chill along her spine. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve got two witnesses who will swear to it.” JT’s voice had turned gentle.

“Then there has to be an innocent explanation. Carol would never have had a relationship with Ryland. I know her—she wouldn’t have betrayed me that way.”

“It gives her motive,” Jase said quietly. “And she knew he wanted to reconcile. You told me yourself that you confided in her.”

And Carol had talked to Drake, though she’d sworn she hadn’t told him anything. Jordan swallowed around a huge lump in her throat.

“You don’t know Carol,” she insisted. “She’s even less capable of recognizing brake lines than I am. This is crazy.”

“Think back to that night,” Jase urged. “After you called her, how long did it take her to arrive? Did she show up at the condo more quickly than you expected? Could she have been somewhere in the area?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” Jordan said, exasperated. “I wasn’t paying attention to those sorts of details. Ryland had just been killed.” She hunched her shoulders and leaned forward. “I want you to drop this, JT. I will talk to Carol myself and ask her about the conference. There’s an innocent explanation,” she insisted stubbornly. “I’m certain of it.”

“You’re the boss, darlin’.”

She drew a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“You’ll get my bill.”

Jase punched the disconnect button. The silence stretched out between them.

“So Didi is the most viable suspect,” Jordan concluded out loud.

“JT may still come up with interesting names for those witnesses.”

They were both leaving unspoken the information about Carol, and Jordan preferred it that way. Even asking about the shared hotel room would put a strain on their friendship, and Jordan couldn’t do that. Carol had always been there for her. If—and only if—Didi came up with a verifiable alibi would Jordan then call Carol.

Jordan stood to stretch out the kinks. If she didn’t get some coffee in her, her sleepless night would soon have her flat on her face. “I need to track down Didi and have a little talk with her.”

Jase shook his head. “Not alone, you aren’t. If she’s killed once, she won’t hesitate to do so again.” He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we get cleaned up, then I’ll pick you up and we’ll grab brunch on the way out to Ted’s house.”

“Sounds like a plan, as long as you add caffeine to the brunch portion of the agenda.”

Jase glanced at his watch. “I’ve got some emails and a supplier I have to deal with. How does two hours from now sound?”

* * *

ONCE back at the house, Jordan took a long shower, slowly graduating the water temperature from hot to cold in the hope that it would wake her up. With a towel wrapped around her wet hair, she looked through the last of Seavey’s papers. She was convinced she’d find the clue she needed to nail Hattie’s murderer.

Locating an entry from the night of the soirée, she began to read while she towel-dried her hair.

June 6th — I find I’m barely able to put pen to paper this night, for I suffer from intense emotion unlike anything I’ve experienced in my lifetime. Though I was able to return Charlotte unharmed, my relationship with Hattie has been irreparably damaged. For I looked into her eyes this evening and saw the truth of her feelings. No matter what I have done—and she will never know the truth of it—she hates me with a deep and abiding passion. I find the pain of this knowledge almost unbearable .

Remy just now brought me word of Hattie’s murder. I will not rest until I find her killer. How ironic that I was incapable of understanding what I felt for her was love until it was too late. She would’ve told me it was no less than I deserve .

Jordan flipped through the pages, hunting for additional references to Hattie, but what she found instead was even more intriguing.

July 23rd — For the first time in my life, I have killed out of the need for personal vengeance. Once Remy had persuaded him to talk, he admitted to murdering Hattie in retribution. He’d laughed, thinking I wouldn’t care what he’d done. He sealed his fate in that moment. I had the pleasure of watching the man who took from me everything I hold dear die a slow, agonizing death. Perhaps now I can rest .

Jordan set the papers down, her hands trembling with excitement. Frank had been innocent, and Seavey had avenged Hattie’s murder. The question was, who had died on July 23, 1890? Clive Johnson? It certainly made sense. How tragic that Greeley had been too blind to investigate Johnson. To know for certain, though, she needed a name—an official record of who had died on that date.

She reached for her phone.

“Darcy, I need to get back inside the Historical Society building. Are you up for a little B and E this morning?”

“Gee, why the hell not? I live to break the law,” Darcy replied. “Pick you up in ten minutes.”

* * *

THIS time, Jordan left Malachi at home, explaining that Darcy didn’t want dog hairs in the police cruiser. He let it be known he thought that reasoning was suspect at best.

While Darcy drove, Jordan filled her in on what she’d learned.

“So we’re looking for some kind of official report of a murder on July 23, 1890?” Darcy asked as they turned into the parking lot of the Historical Society.

“Yeah. Seavey, in a journal entry on that date, indicates he killed Hattie’s murderer. My bet, given the prior entries in which he said he needed to deal with Johnson, is that that’s who he killed.”

“Maybe, if you believe that Seavey was being truthful in his journal.”

“Why wouldn’t he have been?”

“Anyone in that time frame who wrote journals or diaries had to believe the documents would be read by whoever survived them.”

“You have a point,” Jordan said grudgingly. “But he admitted to murder, and I don’t see Seavey as a man who spent a lot of time agonizing over his reputation.”

Darcy moved the plywood from in front of the door. “He might’ve wanted his relatives to believe he’d done the right thing, simply because he knew he hadn’t and felt remorse. It’s one thing to kill off your competitors, but it’s another entirely to be a party to the murder of a defenseless woman.”

“Maybe.” But Jordan wasn’t convinced. She opened the door and they made their way across the dusty room and down the stairs to the basement.

Jordan ran her fingers down the spines of the boxes holding the Port Chatham Weekly Gazette from 1890, pulling out the one that was the correct range of dates. Taking it over to the small table, she opened it and handed half its contents to Darcy. “Look for July 23, 1890, or a date close to that, since the newspaper was a weekly.”

It took her only a moment to find what she was looking for, her surprise growing as she read. She held out the yellowed newsprint, pointing at the front-page leading article. “Police Chief John Greeley was killed in the line of duty the night of July 23, 1890. He’d been beaten, then shot in the abdomen in the alley behind the police station. He bled to death before he was discovered.”

“Whoa,” Darcy murmured, skimming the article.

“Yeah.” Jordan rubbed her face, trying to process the information in a way that made sense.

“There must’ve been more than one murder that night.” Darcy was flipping through the rest of the newspaper.

“I don’t think so, actually.”

“Come on. A cop? You think Greeley killed Hattie, then set up Frank to take the fall?”

“Actually, it fits, and for reasons I wasn’t even taking into account, dammit. Greeley was furious with Hattie for putting Charlotte at risk and causing her kidnapping. And I don’t care how chauvinistic men were back then, he was obsessed with Charlotte. Men like that are easily capable of killing the person they hold responsible for the destruction of their carefully planned world. And it also makes sense that Greeley would frame Frank—he could buy himself some favors with Seavey for neutralizing a business rival.”